


Doctor Fix It

by Kharasma



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father Figures, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharasma/pseuds/Kharasma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On one strange night in 1955, Dr. Brown learns that he can, in fact, be a certain boy's Doc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Fix It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Belewitts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belewitts/gifts).



> This story is set during Part 1, around the middle of Marty's week with Doc in 1955. The strangeness carries on from there.

No one would know it from looking at the way he sprawled over the bed, but Marty was actually a fairly sound sleeper. Arguments tended to break out in the wee hours of the night at the McFly household, and the surrounding homes weren’t always that much better. All the boy needed was a good rock tune to roll him right to sleep.  
  
Unfortunately, the trick didn’t work quite as well in his current situation. He still had the Walkman, sure. And if he needed a battery charge, he was sure Doc had something on hand. But no riff in the universe could silence the dread in his mind, which actually sounded something like the roar of an angry crowd after a failure of a guitar solo.  
  
No matter how hard he tried to blank it out, the photograph on the nightstand lingered in his mind. His disappearing family haunted his every thought. And maybe it was crazy, but if he listened long and hard enough, he thought he could hear the roar of a time ripple in the far distance, rushing to wash him out of existence in the too-near future.   
  
Blearily, he lifted his head to catch sight of the clock, pointedly avoiding the photograph sitting next to it. The hands pointed to just after 1 AM---late for a midnight snack, but Marty was nothing if not talented in the art of being casually late. All he had to do was slurp some warm milk and finally hit the hay, right?  
  
Marty plodded down the hall in his borrowed blue pajamas, the sleeves and legs awkwardly tied with string to keep himself from tripping. He passed Copernicus curled up next to the stairs, sparing a moment to pat the little fuzzball on the head. Finally, he rounded the corner to find the kitchen, where a familiar shadow already hovered over the stove.   
  
Of course he couldn’t avoid running into Doc, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Now the trick was to catch his attention without startling him...he’d learned quickly that the man was painfully unused to having anyone else around.   
  
“Hey Doc,” Marty called softly, stepping up to the cabinet for a glass. Doc’s shoulders seemed to stiffen just a little---but it passed quickly enough as he stepped aside to accommodate the boy at the stove. Doc turned to the strange, towering wall of glass and ceramic parts sitting on the counter next to the stove--by the smell of it, it was a coffee machine. Coffee all night? That was undoubtedly Doc.  
  
“Marty! Isn’t this a little late for you to be up? You’ve got school in the morning, after all,” Doc frowned, sounding every bit the over-concerned parent. Parent---ah, that was a sore subject. Marty forced himself away from that train of thought.  
  
“Yeah, sure, but I’m not going to class,” he reminded Doc. “So who’ll care if I’m a little out of it?”  
  
A look crossed Doc’s face as if he wanted to respond to that, but he shook it off. “Even so, you need to keep your wits about you. George still needs to win Lorraine’s heart, and you’re the only chance he’s got!”  
  
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Marty groaned, raking his hand through his now-wild hair. He swore all that grease was doing something unpleasant to it. “I’ll get it. I mean, I have to. What other choice is there?”  
  
Doc stepped aside to allow Marty to use the stove. He was heating milk...an interesting contrast to himself and his coffee contraption, he thought. “We’ve been over this, Marty. You’d vanish from existence, just like your siblings in that photograph,” he said, voice softening just a little. That was most definitely not an outcome he wanted to see.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Marty winced. “But I’ve been thinking: what does that even mean? I mean, back in 1985, right now. Dad’s probably freaking out ‘cause I’m gone, and I’m sure Mom thinks this is all your fault. No offense, Doc, but she’s always thought you were a little off.”  
  
“She’d be far from the first to think that way,” Doc shrugged. Yet her son was the first to think he wasn’t. It was almost enough to make him want to do a little jig, but he must show restraint. This was a serious matter.   
  
“Right. So then I was thinking---that’s stupid, they’re probably not even thinking about me, ‘cause Dave just disappeared. They’re all at his funeral, right?” And Marty wasn’t there. Hopefully he’d never need to be there, he thought, with an unpleasant knot forming in his stomach.  
  
Doc flinched. Something in the way Marty spoke about himself...he wasn’t very appreciated where he came from, was he? The way he called it stupid to think that his family would care...they really were two birds of a feather. The scientist had the strangest urge to reach out and comfort the boy---but again, important matters begged to be discussed.  
  
“I’m afraid you’re not thinking fourth-dimensionally,” Doc whispered regretfully, as the implications of this mess started to sink in. “The photograph is a clear indication of what’s happening in the future. Dave was erased from history, just as his presence in the photograph was. As far as your parents know at the moment, you never had an older brother.”  
  
That was almost enough to make Marty drop his glass. He leaned heavily on the stove for support, lingering there until Doc reached over to gently nudge him away. “Heavy,” Marty breathed. For once, Doc allowed that remark to pass unchallenged.  
  
“So if I don’t fix this...no one’ll know I was ever born? Not even you?” Marty blurted without thinking. Of course the Doc he knew wouldn’t know---he couldn’t know, he was dead. Not gone the way Marty would be...but still dead.  
  
“That’s exactly it,” Doc sighed, pouring Marty’s glass once he realized what the teen had been trying to accomplish at the stove. “I imagine that’s why you haven’t been sleeping tonight.”  
  
He paused to study Marty’s reaction. The boy’s eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them, and his face was paler than he recalled, even with the warm glow of the kitchen lights. And even stranger, he seemed the most upset by the idea that Doc wouldn’t know he was gone. Was he really that important to the boy? Doc felt a twinge of guilt---the facts of this case were quite upsetting, he knew, so he reached over to pat Marty’s arm. That was what one friend was meant to do for another, right?  
  
“But you needn’t concern yourself,” Doc hurried on, his mind abuzz with how to make this right. Eager for energy, he slammed the switch on his coffee maker, causing the liquid to brew faster and faster. “From what I’ve already seen of your schemes this week, you’re an exceptionally clever young man. And perhaps with my assistance, we could engineer further social opportunities for your parents,” he thought aloud. “I have connections at the school...some conveniently timed phone calls could do the trick.”  
  
As Doc started to plot and plan for the next day, the gears turning in his head were rivaled only by the gears turning on the coffee machine. He became a whirlwind of movement, one that was all too familiar to Marty---and as always, he chose to wisely step out of the way with his milk. Nothing could stop Doc once his mind started racing, except...  
  
...well, except the dangerously-about-to-overflow coffee machine, Marty realized with a spike of dread. With the way it was smoking, and the way Doc completely failed to notice it...he could get burned pretty badly. Nothing as serious as what else could happen, Marty thought with a painful clench, but his heart didn’t make the distinction.   
  
“Hey Doc?” Marty tried beckoning him over. The man continued to mumble about parent teacher conferences and pesky kids. The coffee machine wobbled dangerously.  
  
“Doc!” Doc’s only response was the snapping of his fingers. He backed toward the machine, the coffee now threatening to burn all oer.  
  
“DOC!” came Marty’s cry when the machine finally toppled. Marty slammed his glass onto the counter and leapt into action, shoving Doc out of the path of burning liquid and shattering glass, leaving them both sprawled on the floor.  
  
Doc flopped back against the nearest cabinet for a moment, completely winded, only coming to awareness when he heard a pained hiss from Marty. Burning black liquid was seeping into the boy’s shirt, down the shoulder and across the arm.   
  
“Marty! Come on, let’s get you sorted out...” Doc said, instantly alert. He hauled Marty to his feet and ushered him into the sitting room, quietly calling up everything he knew about first aid.   
  
A few minutes later, the chaos had blissfully settled down. They’d thrown Marty’s shirt into the wash, applied cold compresses, and at the moment Doc was doing his best to gently wrap the burn on Marty’s shoulder.  He sighed.   
  
“What was that about, Marty?” Doc asked, his exasperation showing just a little as he tugged on one end of the gauze. “A simple coffee burn is highly unlikely to be lethal.”  
Marty cringed, leaving Doc unsure if that was from the pain or something he’d said. “I know, it’s probably stupid. But if I let your hand get burned, who’s gonna fix the DeLorean, huh?”   
  
“You may have a point,” Doc had to agree, leaning over Marty’s shoulder to gently tie the gauze in place. “Of course, I could always instruct you to perform the necessary repairs for me.”  
  
“That actually doesn’t work too well in the future,” Marty answered, a hint of a smile in his voice. Doc only had to peek a little further to confirm that the smile was also on his face “Last time you tried that with me, the whole can of dog food ended up on Einstein’s head. I’d much rather leave it to you.”  
  
Einstein. Right...that was his future self’s dog. Doc lapsed into silent contemplation as he switched positions on the couch, now sitting in front of Marty to wrap his arm. It had been so long since he’d sat with another person like this...let alone a boy who seemed to look up to him. Was even willing to get hurt for him. As Doc considered this, a long-forgotten feeling made itself known.  
  
As Doc lifted Marty’s arm to finish his last tie, he sat back just slightly to study his face. Marty looked right back at him...his gaze was open and trusting in a way that made Doc’s heart clench, but there was something else there too. A trace of that fear from before---oh, he could kick himself for putting it there. Had he really needed to discuss things so tactlessly?   
  
Once the last bow was tied, Doc reached behind him for one of his well-worn quilts, throwing it over Marty’s shoulders. And just the sight of Marty’s smile in response inspired Doc to a depth of conviction he rarely reached. When he met those eyes, he knew. “You’re absolutely right, Marty. Leave this to me---you’re my invaluable assistant with your parents, of course, but you can count on me. I _will_ send you back to the future and you _will_ see your family again, or my name’s not Emmett Brown!”   
  
Upon finishing, he had the strangest urge to ruffle Marty’s unruly hair...and he did, earning a sputtering protest from the boy, who half-heartedly pushed him away. “Okay, okay! You’re the doc, Doc.”   
  
“Indeed I am,” he smiled, a little private joke as he set his first aid kit to the side. “More than usual, it seems. Sleep well, Marty,” he finished, moving to get up---  
  
\---only to be stopped by Marty throwing his good arm around his shoulders, clinging for a good second for reasons unknown. He squeezed briefly before flopping down onto the couch. “G’night, Doc.”  
  
Well. That was new. Doc filed that strange upswelling of affection to the back of his mind, now more energized than he ever would’ve been with that coffee cup. There was a friend depending on him to make this right. And somehow, someway...the city’s worst inventor would somehow become its best. For Marty.


End file.
